


Bertie and the Drunken Interlude

by Durrant



Category: Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: M/M, mentions of past non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 13:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Durrant/pseuds/Durrant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a short history of the loves of Mr Reginald Jeeves, or, how Jeeves found an unexpected happiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bertie and the Drunken Interlude

Since coming into Mr. Wooster's employ I have, with surprising frequency, been asked by his various friends and associates for advice on matters of the heart. Although I like to think that I have shown a certain aptitude for solving the small problems that so often plague gentlemen, I am not certain that I have ever really gained the experience necessary to counsel others on the nature of love. 

The first time I fell in love myself, I was thirteen years old. At the time I did not realise that it was love, all I was aware of was the absolute perfection of the under footman. Archie Postlethwaite was the most beautiful man I had ever seen; perhaps if I could see him again I would not see his appeal, but as it was I adored him in a way that one only can when one when is in the first flushes of lust. I would trail after him, desperate for any scrap of attention that he might bestow on me. Finally, after months of this, I gained my heart’s desire. We had gone scrumping and in the autumn light he looked more perfect than ever. His cheeks were flushed with exertion, his eyes shone with merriment and his blond hair caught the light as if it were gold. He pushed me up against an apple tree and kissed me. I remember quite distinctly, afterwards, as he pulled away, his eyes still closed, my feeling of absolute awe that this delightful creature would deign to touch me. 

Within a few weeks, he was dead. He had taken another page boy scrumping, and had tried to kiss him too. That boy had not been as amenable as myself, he had fled the scene so overwrought that when he returned to the school it was decided that the police should be called. While the constable interviewed every page boy that worked there, looking for more evidence of Archie’s indecency, he was incarcerated in the cellar. Realising the very real danger of exposure, censure and prosecution, Archie took his own life; he hanged himself with his belt.

It was a salutary lesson for me. When one is inverted, one cannot act rashly; the slightest misstep can lead to disaster. I prefer celibacy to death. 

The second time I fell in love it was with my employer. Mr Huxley was an amiable gentleman and, although soul did not meet soul on lovers’ lips, the understanding we came to was perfectly amicable. Most evenings he would invite me to his bed before he retired, where I would spend myself in him before leaving to see to any remaining household duties and then retiring to my own bed. Perhaps it was not a love affair, but it was the closest I thought I would ever come. 

Our troubles, as so many other peoples, began at the start of the War. My master was a man of strong opinions, one of those opinions being that warfare was not the way to settle international conflicts. Although I found myself concurring with his logic, I could not agree with his actions. He became a conscientious objector. He was forced into the army anyway; the last word I ever received from him was a letter from France. He had been placed in prison for refusing orders. It was not a discreet letter; he spoke openly of his disdain for killing any other human and his preference for his own death instead. I fear he wrote the letter at a time when he feared for his own life and, as such, gave little thought to how others might interpret what he wrote; he spoke freely of our understanding, reminiscing openly on the pleasures we had found with each other's flesh. 

At that time I was serving as a batsman to an RFC pilot, Captain Harshaw, a most disagreeable man who considered it part of his duty to read my mail. Unfortunately Mr Huxley’s letter was so explicit, so incriminating that even Captain Harshaw was able to grasp its import. He used the letter to blackmail me. Naturally, I could not pay him off with money and so he took his payment by using my body for his own dark desires. 

I had never found the experience of being buggered especially enjoyable but, after my experiences with Captain Harshaw, I came to find the position entirely repugnant. 

Some weeks after the captain began to blackmail me, his plane developed a mechanical fault as he was taking off. There was a terrible explosion and the plane crashed to Earth barely a hundred yards from the airfield. The wreckage quickly caught fire before anyone could aid the pilot. 

For some time I was quite afraid that the letter, which Captain Harshaw had taken to keeping on his person at all times, would be found amongst the debris. Fortunately the fire had burnt so fiercely that it was entirely obliterated. 

I spent the rest of the War serving as a batsman to numerous other gentleman, but I did not enter into an understanding with any of them. Although I regularly dealt with the most intimate aspects of my gentlemen’s life, I never felt the faint stirrings of desire. Indeed, I was quite convinced that that phase of my life was entirely finished with.

* * *

After serving a series of most unsuitable gentlemen, I was given the address of Mr. Bertram Wooster. I will admit that after the vicissitudes of life which had led me to my previous employers, I paused before making myself known to Mr Wooster. Upon a perusal of the Junior Ganymede Club book, I came to the conclusion that, despite the faults that previous valets had written about so freely, Mr Wooster would make an eminently manageable employer. 

I arrived at Berkeley Mansions to find Mr Wooster in a state of some distress, having indulged quite heavily the previous evening. Even in such a tousled state of dishabille, he was the most extraordinary example of masculinity. Upon learning that he was engaged to Lady Florence Craye, I concede that I felt a most inappropriate twinge of disappointment. His gentle nature, already so apparent to me, seemed highly unsuitable to the strident disposition of a person known to her staff as Lady Caligula. I did my best to free him from that entanglement. Despite some initial unpleasantness, Mr Wooster soon came to agree with my conclusion and has since came to me frequently to solve the various quandaries in which a person of generous nature so often finds themselves. 

Mr Wooster is wont to find himself affianced, and each time he will come to me in a state of panic, desperate for me to determine some scheme by which he may escape the latest imbroglio. Early on in his service, I would feel unease each time he told me of a new engagement. However, I soon learnt that Mr Wooster had no true plans to marry and I was quite comfortable in my position in his household. 

I doubt that this state would have ever changed if it weren’t for his actions one night. I believe that the members of the Drones club had been drinking especially heavily that evening, in order to celebrate the upcoming nuptials of Mr Cyril Fotheringay-Phipps. I had already retired when Mr Wooster returned to the flat but I was roused when he had a minor altercation with an armchair. 

“What ho! Is that you, Jeeves?” he asked, as I assisted him to his bedroom and began to undress him, solely with the intention of changing him into his pyjamas. “Whale of a time...I say, did you know Barmy’s getting hitched?”

“Indeed, sir. I was given to understand you were celebrating the happy occasion this evening.”

“Hmm. Dashed rum thing. Not sure it’s such a happy occasion for yours truly.”

“Sir?” I enquired as I knelt to remove his shoes and socks. He remained quiet, an uncharacteristically thoughtful expression on his face.

“No, in fact the whole bally thing has caused Bertram to do some pretty tense thinking. Pretty tense indeed.”

“Very good, sir,” I said as I went to remove his trousers. It was only then that I noticed he was, quite gloriously, hard. He must have noticed my hesitation because all at once he managed to both fall to his knees and manhandle my trousers and undergarments with a dexterity that I had scarcely credited him. Perhaps I should have moved a little faster, perhaps I should have stopped him altogether. In my defense, I had only ever viewed Mr Wooster as a beautiful but innocently naive creature for whom the sexual habits of his fellow man were a complete mystery. His behaviour came as a complete surprise to me. 

He swallowed my rapidly hardening prick before I could protest. It had been so long, years even, since I had last been touched by another and I fear I gave in to temptation. The wet heat of his mouth was more delicious than I remembered Mr Huxley's had ever been. I only found the strength to push him away when I was close to coming off. 

“It’s alright, just like when we were at school,” he muttered as he took me back into his mouth. I confess that it was only then that I realised that I was not just an instrument of my master’s pleasure, but also a substitute for another man entirely. I am ashamed to admit that, when I spent myself down Mr Wooster’s throat some seconds later, it was with no small degree of satisfaction.


End file.
